The Hollow Crown
by CopperKitsune
Summary: 3 chosen sages-Lukas,Arthur and Vladimir, are chosen by Mordes, the God of Death, to find and seal the the great demon Inazaru from taking over the worlds and corrupting the dimensions. Accompanied by familiars, they set out to save the worlds, or die protecting them.
1. Prologue

_Okay… so this is the plot: Three young sages, Lukas, Arthur and Vladimir, are summoned by the God of Death to stop a demon called Inazaru from corrupting the gates to the other dimensions and becoming the ruler of the universe by sealing him into an ancient relic known as the Hollow Crown (thus the title). _

_This is my first fanfiction and probably my most extravagant. This is kinda based of Ni no Kuni, which is a really good RPG game, definitely recommend it, with the familiars and the portal stuff. I might include the other countries, but there might not be a lot of smut/romance so if your looking for that, don't read this, you might be disappointed. There will be OC though._

_I apologize for my grammar and punctuation in advance._

* * *

The Hollow Crown

Prologue

* * *

_Familiars._ Supernatural beings, or entities, that assist witches, wizards and magic folk. They can take the form of any animal imaginable- from a raven to a cat to a toad, just to name a few. They are commonly mistaken for fairies or demons but in reality, they are neither. A fairy is a humanoid creature thought to be good. Familiars are not always good. Demons are evil spirits that serve the darkest regions of Hell or Hades or whatever people call it. But they are not familiars; familiars are beings of assist and even though they are not always good, they are not so evil that they could be called demons.

A familiar can appear to a human in one of three ways; spontaneously, being given by a family member or another spirit, or during a difficult problem in their life. Once they make a pact though, there is no way out of it. They are together until death.

* * *

Mordes, the God of Death, was tired and bored. Not bored of travelling to the human world to receive the waiting souls of those expired so all they could do was desperately grab onto his long grey cloak. Nor was he tired of listening to the stories of the ghosts, how they were murdered or deceived, how they were once loved, how they disliked being in this present state of being a ghost, how they couldn't wait to go to Paradise. It wasn't any of those things. He sits on a boulder and begins to fiddle with his crooked staff.

He was bored and tired of being there yet nobody ever acknowledging him, or what he was. What about the saying "death is the next great adventure"? The time when people weren't afraid of dying- they were actually looking forward to it for goodness sakes!-was long gone, and what replaced it was a sign of fear.

He sighed. Maybe if he changed his image? Replace the image of the skeletal grim reaper with his real form? It's true: he wore a black cape that covered most of his body and dragged along behind him, in fact, that's what the souls grabbed onto when they saw him coming and he saw them. But in reality, he wasn't a skeleton and he didn't carry a scythe. He was a young man, at least 20 or so, with long, dark brown almost black hair that fell to his shoulders. He was pale skinned and tight lipped, with slightly sunken in cheekbones and long fingers attached to thin, long hands. But his most astonishing feature was his eyes. They were a brilliant shade of red- fiery and dark- yet they weren't human. They were more like a wolf's. Cold and steely yet they showed so much suffering and knowledge of the times gone by, of eras that once were but had now dissolved into forgotten memory. He hadn't forgotten them though. He had been carrying too many of the dead from their castles and bunkers to forget them. He closed his eyes.

"Not asleep are you, Mordes? It's not like you if you are."

His eyes snapped open and his head shot up. In front of him was a beautiful, elegant and tall woman with milky white hair that flowed down to the ground. Except it wasn't touching the ground. It floated like a silk scarf fluttering in the wind, never touching the ground or even stops moving. She has metallic gold eyes and a youthful face, much younger than Mordes, as well as manicured gold nails. She is standing with her arms crossed, yet she smiles and is trying not to laugh. She is wearing a long dress, gold in colour, like sand, with intricate red embroidery in the shapes of cats, birds and even a Chinese dragon that wraps itself from her left side to her right. Over that, she wears a cloak similar to Mordes. But instead of tattered ends like Mordes, hers is decorated with stars. Her cloak is special; it mirrors the exact position of the stars and the constellations in the night sky, even when there are so many clouds, you can always just star gaze into her cloak.

"I wasn't falling asleep, Sominæ. I was just thinking and I like to close my eyes when I think. Is that so much to ask?" he lifts an eyebrow, intrigued about her answer. She shrugs nonchalant.

"What were you thinking about?" she's closer to him now, sitting beside him. He stiffens slightly. He's never been comfortable around his siblings, especially his sister. At least with Gailan, he gave you the courtesy of not getting so close that it felt uncomfortable.

"You remember the olden days?" A nod. "Well, I was thinking about that."

She sighed, shaking her head whilst looking in disbelief, "you're not rambling on about that again, are you? The past is the past, deal with it. Gailan has, I have, why can't you?"

She pauses for an answer but she doesn't get one. Mordes avoids eye contact.

"It's strange," she stands up and stretches a little, working out some of the tension in her arm that had been bothering her for a while, "you're the second oldest yet you're acting like a child. I'm supposed to be the one acting like this, not you." She laughs, but Mordes doesn't respond.

"Gailan says hi by the way. See ya." And with that, she left, leaving Mordes on his own again, fidgeting with his staff, this time on the runes etched deep into the grooves.

He stands, his cloak floating and twisting. He lifts his staff high above his head and he begins to chant. His staff glows silver and blue, then turns lighter until it is surrounded by a pure white light. He slams the end into the ground. Softly though, not hard like you would expect, but it still makes several small cracks appear from the ground. A white sphere appears before him, glowing and revolving. He touches it with his right hand and it grows and flattens like a window. A large black wolfish looking dog appears in the window and lightly growls. His eyes are black but they have reddish tints, like embers on coal after a fire, and his canines are slighter longer and whiter as well as his claws. However, his coat is not long and glossy like a wolf's but it short, showing his sleek, muscular figure. His tail is much the same; more like a snake's than a wolf's.

_What would you like, master? _The voice of the hellhound echoes in Mordes' head, like a vibration inside a cave. Mordes does not speak. He doesn't need to.

_What is the situation with Inazaru?_ The hellhound growls again, his ears flatten and his tail tucked between his legs. Mordes can not hide his shock from his face; he has never seen this from his trusted familiar. Something was wrong.

_What's wrong? Tell me! _He demanded, his voice rising in anger. The hellhound responds with the most terrifying news.

_He's escaped. _

* * *

Inazaru looked around him. It had been difficult. Being chained to a pillar for over 500 years had taken a lot out of him. He wasn't as strong as he was when he was younger. He still didn't know how he managed to get out, it still seemed like a blur to him. All he could remember was blood. There was blood everywhere; on his fingers, on his wings, on the ground of the prison, on the throats and chests of the guards and the less hellhounds. Not the familiar of that blasted god who helped to trap him there though. That was a little disappointing.

Now he was standing on a cliff overlooking a small village near the foothills. A smile began to form on his face. He stretched his arms, working out the joints in his bat-like wings, and extending his razor sharp claws. He twisted his right hand and, upon hearing an audible click, a flame began to burn on his palm. His lizard green eyes narrowed and his nose pulsed with the smell of human blood and flesh.

Oh, it was good to be back.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Wow, my first chapter/prologue and its not even 8 yet._

_Okay, so Inazaru is a demon, demon/mage to be exact but I'll specify later. He's been trapped in a cave/prison for at least 500 years by the 3 gods, but he has particular hatred for Mordes for, again, another thing that will be in the story. _

_Next, the gods: I'm not trying to base them on any Hetalia character/rendition of gods in particular except for Sominae, whose appearance seems to turn into a hybrid of Fem!Prussia and Sandman. But it works since this is a Hetalia fanfic and she is supposed to be the Goddess of Dreams. Sorry, I forgot to mention that. They 3__rd__ God is Gailan, the God of Life, the oldest son/child. Think of their –Mordes and Gailan- rivalry being Zeus and Hades._

_Also, first mention of familiar! Yeah! I love hellhounds, probably because I read way too much Percy Jackson._

_So please read and review, this is my first story so comments are welcomed and appreciated. Thank you!_

_Also, I don't own Hetalia. It is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. _

_CopperKitsune _


	2. Chapter 1

_Finally, my first real chapter and first introductions to my protagonists! Took bloody long enough!_

_Apologizes for any OOC moments, my dialogues are very strange for me to write. Oh, and also character death._

_Hetalia doesn't belong to me, it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. _

* * *

**The ****Hollow Crown**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

The full moon hung above the lake as the wind blew softly across the surface, sending long ripples and waves. A small fishing boat was bobbing in time to the waves, its oars gently swaying to and for and the ripples grew and shrank. The only sound was the constant sound of snoring. A young man, at least 17 or so, was fast asleep, arms behind his head, with only a thin red blank to keep away the cold night air. His hair was a light sandy-brown with his left bang clipped back by a golden cross, and his eyes were an inky dark blue. He wore a dark blue jacket, dark trousers and a dark shirt, similar to that of a sailor's. He had a long curl near the back of his head, as well as a dark blue cap. He wore a frown on his face, like he was having a bad dream which, in fact, he wasn't.

He was standing on a snowy hill, surrounded by snowdrops and craggy rocks. Far beyond, he could see a large forest; pines, firs, so many ever-greens and even the bare branches of old oaks and sycamores. Cold air nipped at his nose and cheeks, and snowflakes danced across his face and settling on his hair and eyelashes. He didn't feel cold though. Maybe you didn't feel cold in dreams? A black winged shape, a bird, seemed to fly over his head, in a figure of eight. It opened its mouth in a caw, but now sound came out of it.

_Lukas… Lukas…_

A voice was calling to him. It was clear and young. It felt… recognizable somehow. Like he had heard it before…

"LUKAS!"

He shot up, his left arm swinging wildly, his eyes still misty from sleep. He felt his fist collide with something soft and bouncy. He heard a large yell, followed by a loud splash and flying curses.

"What in the hell was that?! Why did you do that, Lukas?! It's just me!"

Lukas blearily rubbed his eyes with his left hand, and blinked, trying to refocus on what, _exactly, _had he punched. What he saw was a flailing Matthias Køhler dressed in a dark brown shirt, trousers and jacket as well as wearing a little brown hat, which somehow was able to stay on even when he fell into the water. His spiky blond hair was plastered to his face and was dripping with water. Lukas frowned, and sighed.

"Hello Matthias."

"Oh, that's all you can say! 'Hello Matthias'! No, 'I'm sorry for punching you in the fricking face', just a simple 'Hello'!" he started spluttering and coughing, droplets of lake water spraying from his mouth.

"And you can wipe that stupid smirk off your face as well, Lukas!"

Lukas frowned more, "I'm not smiling, idiot. Now," he picked up a small makeshift life ring and threw it over to him, "climb on board."

Matthias smirked, grabbing onto the life ring and beginning the pull himself on board, slightly tipping the boat to the left.

"Don't you dare tip the boat, Matthias! I have almost a full basket of fish and I'm not letting it go to waste because you tipped over the boat", Lukas snapped. Matthias frowned slightly-was he _that _predictable?- and finally pulled himself onto the boat, landing a loud thump on his head. Lukas sighed again.

"How did you get onto my boat anyway? I don't see yours." This was true; Lukas saw no sign of Matthias' bright red and white fishing boat, humorously named 'The King'. Lukas' was just named 'Nøkken'.It was similar to Matthias; except that it had navy blue oars instead of Matthias' white.

"I paid another fisherman I met in a bar to get him to row me to the lake, then to your boat, good eh?" he smiled impishly. Lukas slapped him again over the head,

"You're still an idiot though. Why did you even have to wake me up this early though?" he motioned to the slowly rising sun, "it's just after dawn! Did it ever enter your thick head that maybe, _just maybe_, I would have liked to sleep in after I spent nearly the entire day and night trying to fish, which I almost lost if you tipped over the boat?" he raised an eyebrow, leaving Matthias stunned. It was all quiet except for the gentle rustling of the waves.

"Start rowing. Matthias, before I get angry."

"Okay, okay. I get it; I won't wake you at dawn. It is nice though."

"Fine, it's nice. Now, shut up and start rowing already before I punch you again. I'm getting a headache from your annoying voice."

Arthur's head was pounding as soon as he opened his eyes, even though it wasn't that light yet. He closed them instantly and turned into his pillow and hard mattress, trying desperately to block out the light and go back to sleep. It didn't work though.

_Oh bloody hell, why did I wake up this early _he thought as he struggled to push himself onto his arms and slowly he put his feet on the cold floor, drawing them back almost immediately. All he remembered from last night was him sitting in at his local bar, 'The Horse's Head', and pouring down a huge glass of frothy beer alongside a pair of brothers. He must have had a few more because his head didn't hurt this much after only one pint. He pulled on a white shirt and a brown sleeveless jacket, some dark trousers and black shoes, opting to skip the tie. Even when hangover, he was still a gentlemen; gentlemen were never seen without proper attire after all, even if they had just woken up from the biggest hangover in their life.

He opened his door, finding three full milk bottles on his doorstep as well as a loaf of bread wrapped in brown paper. It smelt fresh. Arthur lifted it carefully; it didn't feel heavy or plain like the normal bread he bought at the bakery down in the village, it felt light, hollow and warm with little raisins and cheese. It didn't taste too bad either, as he took a bit from a piece of bread he had ripped out. He paused in mid-chew as he thought about who could have baked him bread. _Some one with too much time on his hands that's for sure._

He set the bread on the table before rewrapping the bread again and storing it inside a cupboard for later, maybe for lunch or dinner. His left hand hovered in the cupboard for a second before coming across a half-empty box of breakfast crackers and a small cube of cheese. He slowly sliced the cheese, still a little hung over, but somehow managed to not slice his fingers as the blade neared closer to his fingers holding the cheese. He put them on a small china plate, one of his last clean ones before he had to start to wash dishes, and put it to one side.

Arthur started to cough. _Hell, _he thought, _my throat feels like I swallowed a red-hot iron_. He began to look for the pitcher of water he thought he had set out on the table. _Huh? I wonder where it is._ A gust of cool air brushed past him, sending a shiver up his spine. _And I swear I closed that window last night as well!_

He reached for the window handle and was ready to close it when he heard a strange rustling from the bushes bordering his flowerbed, which he was incredibly proud of, and a twig snapping. He peered closer, slightly leaning out to get a better view. He narrowed his eyes.

"Francis! If that's you, I swear I'm going to rip your throat out!" he yelled at the bushes. The rustling stopped and instead there was a low growl and hiss. Two burning amber eyes appeared from inside the bushes, sending shivers up Arthur's spine. He couldn't move. It was like the eyes transfixed him into place. His fingers were turning white from gripping the windowsill, yet he did not feel anything. He just kept staring ahead into those fire-like eyes.

"Oh, Arthur~ Where are you~?"

Instantly, the eyes widened and ducked, breaking off the connection with Arthur. Arthur, shocked by the sudden spark that had just jolted him, let go of the windowsill and fell, just being able to catch himself on the table. He started to breathe heavily.

_What the hell was that?_

"Arthur~ I know you're in there, so don't think you can ignore me~" the voice called out again, followed by a loud knock. Arthur grimaced, his headache now beginning to resurface, as he walked over and opened the door.

"What do you want, Francis?"

Francis was a young man, only a year or so older than Arthur, with blond hair and blue eyes. He was youthful and young, and much better with the ladies. They had known each other since they were children and so they were used to each other's antics. That is, Francis' womanizing and perverted nature and Arthur's drunken slurs and swearing. Both of them mercilessly teased each other, though Arthur was more sensitive to Francis' jokes about him believing in fairies and other mythical apparitions than he should have let on. It just made things worse.

Arthur saw in Francis' hands a large basket of fruit and vegetables; all delicious and ripe. There were apples and grapes and potatoes and carrots, all tied of with a bright ribbon and neatly stacked.

"I wanted you to have this. I know you haven't got enough food in your pantry to last for the coming winter so I bought these for you. They'll last until late winter so then you can come to my house and have a few meals."

"I don't need your help, frog."

"You can't live off the winter with bread and cheese, Arthur. Just take the basket."

"I don't need your charity either."

"Arthur, just listen to reason. If you live of on bread and cheese for the winter, you're going to run out. Then, when you go down to the stores during the winter, you're going to find that _all _of the food is going to be much more expensive especially bread and cheese. So I recommend that you take my basket before you starve yourself to death this winter." He held out the basket in front of him.

Arthur huffed angrily, before making up his mind and snatching the basket. It was a little heavier than he thought it was. _It must have cost a lot,_ he thought.

"Thanks, frog."

"You're welcome, Arthur."

"_Come here, Vladimir"_

_Vladimir rose from his wooden stool, his bare feet crossing the ancient dark red and gold patterned rug, the soft cloth brushing his toes. He stood by the side of his grandfather's bed, his right hand stroking the elaborate grooves on the bed post, following the carved out flowers and vines trailing up to the crimson red stain canopy. _

"_Bunic?"_

"_Vladimir," he coughed, his thin, ancient body shaking painfully," listen to me and listen closely."_

_Vladimir looked down and stared at his grandfather. He had grown so old in the last few years; his once thick honey-brown hair had now turned white and grey with age and his once strong body that could have endured a thousand hurricanes was now thin and withered like a new born sapling. The worst was his eyes ,once blue like the river but now after a devastating illness that had also taken most of the village's life, they had resulted in becoming a milky grey and sightless. _

"_You must listen closely Vladimir. I haven't got much time in this world. I am sorry I must leave you and Andrei alone but my time has come. But before I leave I must give you something." He shakily lifted his left hand to his heart, before tightly clenching it like he had grabbed something. He lifted it again, his hand tightly gripping a long gold chain. He started to pull it out. Vladimir gasped. He was pulling the chain out of his chest! But his grandfather wasn't in any pain and instead, he looked like a great pain had been lifted from his shoulders._

"_Bunic" he whispered, watching the pile of chains grow in length as his grandfather continued to pull it out. It seemed like forever until it stopped, ending in a small gold pocket watch. His grandfather gave Vladimir the watch, and he looked at it in amazement. The outside was decorated with small roses, each having a tiny ruby stigma. He turned it over to the back. A few scratches, but apart from that; the entire pocket watch was clean and almost unmarked._

"_What is this?"_

_His grandfather laughed, "It is a very special item, passed down from generation to generation of our family. To some, it looks like a pocket watch. But to others, to __**them, **__it is like a signal, to tell you apart from the rest."_

"_Who are '__**them**__'?_

"_They are called familiars, or more commonly known as familiar spirits. They roam the earth for their human masters; their human companions. They are capable of fighting and magic and can take the form of any animal, maybe even a human if they are strong enough. They only appear to those with magic in their blood, like you and I."_

_Vladimir didn't react. He had heard this numerous times from his grandfather. He came from a long line of sages and sorcerers, so he wasn't surprised to hear of his magic blood, and he was proud of it. It did cause some trouble though in the village community, but his grandfather was rich and generous, giving money to the needy and charity, so they didn't complain too much. He had never heard of familiars though. They were not part of the weekly ritutal of bedtime stories. _

"_You are destined to become a great sage one day Vladimir, but I can not help you. That is why I am entrusting you with this," he motioned to the pocket watch, "so you can learn from a familiar, a true master of magic." _

Vladimir shook his head, trying to get rid of that memory. He remembered it so clearly, it was almost unreal. He pictured his grandfather lying still and cold, how he had started shaking him fiercely, how the nurse the doctor employed to take care of them had to pull him away, how she hugged him, how his little brother Andrei started to cry, how he stood over the long open grave that his grandfather's casket would be put in, how he accepted the townspeople's sympathy, and how he placed his grandfather's favourite red roses against his tombstone, though it wasn't the correct colour for a funeral.

Over the last 7 years or so, the tombstone hadn't changed much. Vladimir made sure of that. Every week or so, depending on the weather and so forth, he would go down to the cemetery and wash the tombstone to make sure it was clean and not covered in moss. The trip wasn't too far so it wasn't an inconvenience for him, nor did he have much else to do. He wasn't incredibly sociable like other people, nor was he chasing or flirting after girls like the other boys. The majority kept away from him; never coming close but always watching him like he was an animal, looking for his next move.

He sat down, placing a small brown travel sack next to the tombstone.

**Here lies Ştephan Lupescu**

**Age 99**

**A crowd mourns, a wolf howls,**

**His death affects us all**

"Good evening, Vladimir."

He turned behind him, startled by the low rasping growl, and came face to face with a large lynx like creature. Its eyes were an ardent amber and yellow and they seemed to stare right into his eyes, to his soul. Its fur was sleek and greyish-brown with darker dappled spots and streaks, his pink tongue washing his paws and tail like a common housecat.

"You must be Feles?"

The lynx paused in mid lick, giving a huff of annoyance.

"Do you think all lynxes can talk? Of course I'm Feles and you're Vladimir Lupescu, Ştephan's grandson. You look very much like him; you have his honey brown hair and little fang. Not his blue eyes though."

"My brother Andrei got that, not me."

"Yes," Feles paused in contemplation, "that reminds me…"

"Huh?"

"What are you going to do about your brother, is he coming with us?"

Vladimir shook his head, "No. He'll be in the hands of a caretaker from the village, an old family friend of my grandfather's. He'll be fine."

"Are you sure that you're ready to do this? You're still quite young to start travelling; you're grandfather wasn't ready until he was 20."

"If I don't go now, I'll just be putting it off for the rest of my life." he replied.

Feles chuckled, "Your optimism is sickening."

* * *

_Yeah, second chapter is done. I'm so proud of myself. _

_Okay, little footnotes for the characters:_

_Lukas Bondevik - Norway, of course. He is a fisherman/merchant by trade, like most Vikings to be honest, but he is firm believer in magic and mystical beings. His familiar is a raven, if you haven't guessed, since ravens were highly regarded and symbolised with Odin and Vikings and etc. It's called Rafn (Old Norse __**Hrafn**__ for Raven, how original). His boat's name __**Nøkken **__is a male water spirit that enchants women and children by playing a violin, which he then drowns them. For me and any Harry Potter fans, they're like Grindylows or Jenny Greenteeth. _

_Arthur Kirkland - England/Britain. I don't know what profession he is; hadn't thought of it, but has a lot of magical affliction. His familiar is a dog/wolf, based on Black Shucks in England (like a hellhound but, in my opinion, much more terrifying.) because I can. He's called Hucksley- anagram of Shucks with a few extra letters. He was originally going to be a Carbuncle but I decided against it. _

_Vladimir Lupescu - Romania. He's probably a scholar or an heir to his grandfather's estate. Only named family members as well; his grandfather Ştephan (Dacia) and Andrei (Moldova), was trying to go for an Italy family thing with Grandpa Rome but with Eastern Europe. His familiar is also his grandfathers (just to note- familiars don't age), which is a lynx called Feles. The name is actually Latin for 'cat', since Romanian is a romance language, and the lynx is its national animal. I was going to go for a wolf, but since Arthur has a dog/wolf familiar, I didn't want to repeat myself. _

_Bunic- Romanian for Grandfather_

_Thanks for reading, and please review._


	3. Chapter 2

_I love Britain, but I hate this weather. My mother has to check the weather every 2-3 hrs because the forecast keeps changing, which also slows down the computer, which means I have to save every so often and turn it off otherwise she'll come and throw me outside. I've also got at least 4 art sheets I need to finish, memorise at least 250-300 words of Spanish and do math homework. Thankfully, I have two weeks of Easter break and this is just the beginning of my first. I'm also not that stressed probably because I'm listening to Ghibli songs and movies as I write. Whoever knew that My Neighbour Totoro and Ponyo can make me relax? _

_I don't own Hetalia, it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. _

_Also, Mordes is in this chapter! You don't know how long it took me just to write these characters. Also there is a bit of blood/violence in this chapter, OC character death and curses._

* * *

**The Hollow Crown**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Mordes fidgeted with his staff and began to squirm in his chair. It wasn't comfortable and rather stylish with a curved backboard and wolf-like chair legs and even a flat cushion to prevent him from getting bruises. It was more that he was nervous. He had never done this before. It was usually Gailan who did this, not him. It wasn't in his nature.

He was the only god there at that moment, though he knew that the other two would be arriving soon enough. He had sent his hellhounds after Gailan and Sominæ only a day ago, and unless they were vaporised or sent away as soon as they got there, they should be here by now. He had chosen his home in the Underworld which, truth be told, wasn't that gruesome or gory. It was very ancient, like a temple or cathedral. It had no beds, he had no need for sleep, and instead it was filled with mahogany furniture and dark drapes. There were a few paintings and even a fresco of a countryside landscape that was hidden behind a large silk curtain and gold tassels. His most prized items were his candlesticks and candelabras; all alit with flickering electric blue and yellow-green flames.

A young hellhound, really only a pup, bounded in and spoke respectfully.

"Sire, Gailan is here. He wants to be met at the door, sire. What are your orders?"

_Just like him, that bastard. _

"Tell him I will be there in a moment. I just need to retrieve something" he lied, shaking his hand away at the pup. Without any further questioning it bounded away, leaving Mordes alone in the room once more.

Without a sound, he reached down and picked up a bottle of dark wine. He reached down again and retrieved a small glass. He began to pour the wine before raising it to his lips and tipping it back.

_Oh wine, give me strength._

* * *

Sominæ smiled to herself as she approached Mordes' palace. She admired the ancient architecture and the beautiful spires and shiny tiles that adorned the roof. Her own home wasn't as grand as her brothers. For a start, it was a boat. A big boat, but a boat none the less. It sailed the sky, through day and night as she travelled the world, sending dreams to the sleeping people below her. Its sails were a beautiful gold and pearl pink and painted like dragonfly wings, its cabin contained a wooden desk and stool as well as shelves upon shelves of little trinkets that she found on the ground when spreading her dreams. It had no oars and it floated through the sea of clouds smoothly like a boat on a calm lake. But nothing could come to Mordes' though.

She was about to knock on the door when she heard a loud crash and clatter as well as shouts and curses. She instantly recoiled with fright but regained her composure and without another second to loose, she became intangible and passed through the door with ease. She started to run towards the source of the noise and she stared.

Mordes' staff had been thrown to the floor and there was a large split running down the middle. The floor was covered in shards of broken glass and wine like somebody had thrown it to ground in fury. Both her brothers were covered in blood; Gailan had a large cut on his forehead and was clutching his limp left arm to his chest whilst Mordes seemed to be in a worse state with his chin covered in blood and a large streaks of blood staining his chest. They did not acknowledge her presence; they only kept staring at each other, daring the other to attack.

"Wha… what happened?" Sominæ whispered, trying to keep her voice from breaking into terrified sobs. They had never thought like this; the odd disagreement and punch, yes, but not an actual fight that drew blood. The most that came out of these were a few bruises, not Mordes or Gailan covered in blood.

Everything was silent for a few seconds before Gailan finally spoke:

"We had an exchanging of ideas. That's all. Mordes wouldn't listen to reason."

"What?! You're kidding me. _You're_ the one who won't listen to reason, bastard!"

"Stop it, stop it! Please, both of you calm down." Sominæ cried out. "I don't like to see you fighting like this. Let's just work this out like civilised people without trying to tear each other apart."

The room was silent again, except for the pained and raspy breathing of the brothers. Mordes closed his eyes and picked up his staff. He pointed the tip towards one of the fallen chairs, righting itself and placing firmly on the ground. He immediately slumped, resting his head and neck on the backboard before clicking his fingers. A hellhound instantly appeared at his feet. He spoke to it.

"Please fetch my green book from upstairs. Top left shelf, it is chained with a lock. Thank you."

He then motioned to his siblings,

"Please sit, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"Mordes, why are we here?"

"Excuse me? Didn't the hellhound tell you?"

"Well, not really. I was in a hurry and-"

"Hah! You're telling me Little Miss I'm-never-late-so-haha was in a hurry?"

"Shut up, Gailan! I never asked for your contribution."

"We're here because of Inazaru."

"Huh?" Sominæ asked, the name catching her off guard. Gailan had gone quiet again.

"That's what you two were fighting about?"

"If you want to be short and blunt about it, then yes."

"Why on earth-"

"I got news from my head guard a few days ago. Inazaru escaped from his cell and has made his way into the land of the living. He's already causing trouble, I can feel it."

"How are you going to catch him? It almost made you loose you form."

"Well, you see-"

"Mordes isn't going after Inazaru himself. He's going to send in some mortals instead."

"Mordes, you're not serious, are you?"

A suffocating silence filled the air. Nobody spoke. Mordes twisted his head to the right, staring at a piece of ruffled carpet, avoiding his sister's piercing gold eyes.

"If I go against Inazaru again, I'll lose my form forever. I'll disappear. I won't exist. It doesn't mean that death won't exist, but I'll be gone forever. I won't risk that, _I can't_. "

"So," Sominæ's voice began to shake with anger, "you're going to risk other people's lives just to compensate for your own. How heartless can you be?!"

"Look Sominae, I have no choice."

"You can, I don't know, fight him and capture him yourself. Why do you need humans to do it?"

"Didn't I just tell you? If I fight him, then I will disappear or do you not care?"

"Sir, your book." The hellhound interrupted, carrying the book in its mouth and placing it in Mordes' open palm.

"Thank you. Now, you may leave us."

Sominæ fumed with pure anger, her pretty face twisting with frustration at her brother.

"We don't want you to disappear, but we can't let you risk human lives. Please, _please, _reconsider."

Mordes ignored her desperate pleas as he flicked through the pages. She didn't stop, not noticing that he was no longer listening to her attempts of reconsideration. Gailan noticed though, not trying to attempt to stop her from her speeches. He did, however, pipe up once he saw the title of Mordes' book.

"'Guide to Advanced Sorcery and Spells', huh. Don't tell me you're going to-"he asked, once again catching Sominæ's attention by announcing the book's title. She became quiet almost instantly.

"Yes, and do you have a problem with that?"

Sominæ and Gailan looked at him pitifully as he waited for an answer, but neither spoke up. It was a painful memory for them all, especially Mordes. After all he had been the sages' patron for as long as any of them could remember.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures." murmured Gailan, and Sominæ nodded with him, adding:

"I hope you know what you're doing Mordes, and please be careful."

"I know what I'm doing. I've already planned and chosen the future sages."

"Then," questioned Sominæ, "why did you ask us to come if you've already put your plan into motion?"

"Simple." He replied, "I wanted your opinions, and maybe for you to admit that my plan is the best."

"Bastard!" cried Gailan, leaping forward and lunging towards him, fist brought back for a punch.

"Wait!"

"Huh?"

Mordes' head turned towards Sominæ, whilst still trying to push Gailan's body off him as his chair fell under him, and began to grapple on the floor. She was standing there, arms crossed and face twisted into curiosity.

"How did you choose the future sages?"

"I sent them a familiar, you know, as a sign."

"And you realise that practicing magic today is an offence?"

"Um…"

"And any practitioner caught using magic will put to death?"

"When did that happen?"

"You idiot!" cried Sominæ and Gailan in unison, catching Mordes off guard, giving Gailan enough time to throw Mordes a punch just grazing his chin. Mordes stumbled, numb from the shock of being punched. They both looked at him disapprovingly.

"You didn't think it through did you?" they asked.

"N-No, I didn't." he admitted, "I need to go. I made a mistake."

"What mistake?"

He pulled on his cloak, quickly fastening the rusty metal clasp never his collar and pulling up his heavy hood over his head, tucking his long dark brown hair so that it was underneath the cloak and hood. He swung open the door, making it clatter against the wall, before sprinting outside.

"What mistake?" they called after him desperately as they ran outside, but he was already gone.

* * *

"Matthias are you going to stand there and act like an idiot or are you going to help me?" Lukas puffed as he struggled to pull his boat on land. He didn't usually have to do this since other fishermen would help him out when trying to pull his boat up. But, unfortunately, there was no one else around, except for Matthias, so he was going to have to do it by himself.

Matthias turned towards Lukas and shrugged, "I want an apology for the punch, and then I'll help you."

"You're not still complaining about that again are you?"

"That's not an apology."

"It isn't, now help me." The boat felt like it was becoming heavier with every tug and it was becoming tougher to move or even budge.

"Fine, have fun." Matthias waved and started to head up the worn out dirt path that headed from the land docks to the villages. Lukas groaned before finally calling out to him.

"Fine, I'm sorry I punched your face, even though you deserved it."

"I deserved it?"

"You're not getting anything better so take it or leave it idiot!"

"Fine." He turned and grasping onto the bow and started to pull it up. Together, they pulled and were finally on shore, finishing it off with a tight knot on the iron metal embedded in the hard ground, making sure it didn't fall back into the water and float away.

"There, that wasn't too bad, was it?" asked Matthias, wiping his sweaty hands on his half-damp trousers. Lukas shrugged nonchalantly.

"I'm still not doing pulling a boat up by myself though."

"No, no, no, I didn't mean that. I mean, apologizing. You've never apologized to anyone before have you?"

"To be honest, I haven't. Oh, I'm not doing that again as well."

Lukas bent down and picked up his basket of fish, and started to admire the catch. At this time, most of the fishermen would be either going to church with their wives and children or resting at home. Lukas did neither; he wasn't very religious and he had to prepare for later when the stalls would be open and he could start to sell of the fish, maybe keep one or two for dinner tonight with his younger brother Emil.

He hauled it over his right shoulder and started to walk up the path, with Matthias following close behind. He started to head towards the nearest town, which was slowly coming alive. Windows ere flung open, curtains pulled back and the chatter of people as they left their houses for service. Everybody was dressed in their best clothes; freshly pressed shirts and clean trousers for the husbands, a clean, simple yet stunning dress and matching bonnet for the wives and usually smaller versions of these for the children. Lukas and Matthias passed them quickly without a second glance, yet nodding to the few fishermen they recognized, who might either give them a polite nod or a stern smile, those who looked disapprovingly would usually be the religious and old fashioned. Matthias called out a goodbye to Lukas before taking another path down the crosswords towards his own house. Lukas didn't look but held his hand in a parting gesture.

It wasn't long until he reached his house near the outskirts of the town; a quaint little cottage with a small living room, two bedrooms, a bathroom and a neatly sized kitchen with a small stove. It had running water and a fireplace in both the bedrooms as well as the living room, so it never got too cold in the frosty clutches of winter.

Lukas unlocked the door, slowly opening it as it creaked and groaned. The house felt dark and cold, the gas lamps were off and sun was just beginning to rise higher, slowly stretching the shadows of the couch and tables.

"Emil," Lukas called softly, "Emil. Are you up?"

There was no reply, so Lukas entered Emil's room. It was painted pale blue and white, like ice, and was warm and cosy. There were shelves upon shelves of old books and pictures, including of one when his mother was still alive and they were having a picnic. Emil was still curled up in his bed, clutching the blanket tightly around himself and his stuffed toy Mr Puffin. He looked so sweet.

Lukas decided not to wake him and he headed to the kitchen, where he pulled out a large bucket of ice and cold water. Slowly, he placed the fish delicately into the bucket, making sure that it didn't overflow too much. It would at least keep the fish fresh into the afternoon.

He reached into his cupboard and retrieved a large loaf of bread wrapped in old paper to protect it from the ever present mice and rats. He reached further into the cupboard, trying to find the jam, when he heard a loud yawn and the little pattering of feet.

"Good morning Emil."

"Why are you here so early? I thought you weren't going to be back from fishing until noon."

"Well, I woke up earlier than usual and I was bored so I decided to come back earlier. Do you want some breakfast? I'm going to make some eggs and a jam sandwich before I head into market."

"Sure."

At least 2 hours later, Lukas was walking down the bustling market place, empty basket in hand, trying to get a good look at the fruit and veg on sale. Usually, like many of the other fishermen, including himself and Matthias, they headed into the next town for food. Children were scampering and chasing each other through the swarming bodies of adults and stalls.

"Hey!"

"HEY!"

Suddenly, Lukas was thrown down to the ground; hitting his head upon impact, stars spinning, pain flashing on his temple. He couldn't move and somebody was on his back and pounding the living crap out of him. He heard a noise and the weight was off his back and he able to move. He struggled getting up and wiped his sleeve on his mouth, smearing the fabric with blood. No sooner than he regained himself onto his feet than another man had punched him in the gut, causing him to double over, clutching him stomach as he spit out the remains of his breakfast and blood.

He was pulled to his feet; his arms twisted painfully behind his back and he was face to face with his assailant. Matthias was sprawled on the floor behind him, a trickle of blood exiting from his nose and a small pool forming around his head. His assailant gave him no acknowledgement.

"Who are you? Wh-what do yo-you want?" he spluttered, his coughs becoming more painful with each breath.

"Don't act dumb, boy. Surely you remember me?" the man pulled his blond hair, forcing him to look into his watery eyes and leathery face.

"I'm so-sorry, I don't-"

"Surely you didn't forget the money, now where is it?"

"Wha-"

"The money you stole from me. Three years ago!" he bellowed. The crowd murmured excitedly and began to gossip. Lukas could hear them clearly.

"I never st-stole anything from you, I don't even know you."

"You're a liar Lukas. I have proof."

And with that, Lukas' head exploded into pure white pain and he fainted in the arms of the men. But not without hearing two cries. One was from his assailant. The other was a raven's.

* * *

"Mr Kirkland. Mr Kirkland."

Arthur looked up as his focus broke from his sewing. He had wanted to finish Miss Janet Ellis' hat for her wedding before dark whilst there was still some natural light and he didn't have to waste his precious wood or coal supplies. But for some reason, somebody was calling him. It wasn't any of his customers from the week asking when their latest hats would be done; they were all women, and this was a man's voice. It wasn't Francis' voice either; this voice wasn't at all flamboyant or feminine like that damn frog's.

"It's open." He called, not wanting to let go of the needle. _Okay, _he thought to himself,_ this is the last time I drink before doing any deadline._

"Mr Kirkland, um, sir."

He drew his eyes away and instead focussed on the man standing in front of him, as well as two others. They were dressed in police uniforms; black jacket, white shirt, sturdy cotton trousers and uncomfortable leather shoes. The man in front was wearing a small gold insignia on his left lapel whilst the other had none. He had blond hair and was stoic and stern looking with blue eyes, like Francis', but with a piercing, no nonsense glares to them.

"Yes?" He looked at him questioningly, "what can I do for you today?"

"My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, a captain of the Police division. I was wondering if I could talk to about last night."

"What happened last night?"

"A Mr Daniel Morgan was declared dead from murder last night at 11:45pm just outside the Dragonfly pub from a blow to the head. We think that he died quite soon after being struck so we suspect that the attack was done at roughly a minute or so before hand. Do you mind telling us what you were doing 11:45pm last night?" he flipped open a page of a small notebook and began to write Arthur's name.

"I don't know actually. You see, I was, um, drunk so I don't really remember."

"Where were you drunk?"

"There's no place out to go drinking than the Dragonfly pub. It's the only decent place close by to my house so if I get drunk, I can still walk back."

"What time did you leave the pub?"

"Again, I don't know. I guess before 12, that's my one rule about pubs: I leave before 12."

"Did you see anything suspicious when you were leaving? Any hushed whispering or anything like that?"

"I don't know, I was drunk."

"Sir, did you know Daniel Morgan at all?"

"He was an okay guy, I guess. He complimented me on my hats once. But then sometimes he could turn into a real jerk."

He looked at him curiously, noting down a few things before closing the notebook. Sighing, he motioned to the other men. Once again, he turned to Arthur and spoke.

"Sir, you're under arrest of the murder of Daniel Morgan. Please do not fight back, and anything you say will be held against you in your hearing."

"WHAT? You think I killed Daniel? Look the guy could be a jerk but I didn't hate him for it. Most of the men in this town are real jerks."

Ludwig sighed and rubbed his head between his fingers. He just wanted it to get this over with as soon as possible then maybe get some breakfast he had forgotten. "Sir, we are only needing to take you in for questioning, nothing else. We want to find the murderer as quickly as possible and to do that, we need to gather evidence. Please, make this easy for us."

Arthur scowled, "Why me? Why not the other idiots at the pub?"

"We've questioned them already and one mentioned that you left the pub about the same time as the murder. Unfortunately we cannot give his name to you, just in case."

"But-"

He was pulled roughly to his feet and he felt metal handcuffs being put around his wrists and binding them. Ludwig opened the door as he was started to being pushed forward, almost falling as he stumbled over his feet.

Passing people were staring at the sudden intrusion and their precious hatter being handcuffed and escorted by the police. They either stood in amazement and silence or they were jabbering and gossiping little birds to one another.

_Be brave, _spoke a voice in Arthur's head, _hope will come soon._

_What? _He thought, _I must be going crazy. Now I'm hearing voice in my head. Who are you?_

_My name is Hucksley. You met me this morning, remember?_

* * *

It was almost noon when Andrei awoke to find a mob at his front door. He had been getting a bit of lunch in his kitchen; heating up some water for some vegetables and cooking a piece of fresh venison in the large oven. He was about to peel the skin and core them out when he heard the furious pounding. It was so strong that it rattled the china and antique vases in the hall. It sort of frightened him.

With shaking hands he unlocked the tightly bolted door and swung it open, only to be connected by a fierce punch to the face. His head started to spin as one of the men pulled him up and shoved him aside.

Another man pulled him up forcefully and snarled at him, "Where is your bastard brother kid?"

"Wha-what are you doing?" he cried, as people flooded the hall, knocking down countless priceless family heirlooms and treasures. "Stop that, please. Brother!"

"What the hell is going on here?!"

They all turned towards the doorway and there stood Vladimir in his glory, dressed in a brown short sleeved jacket, white shirt, baggy black trousers and soft travelling shoes. He was carrying a large brown bag, full to the brim and tightly knotted by a rope. What was more surprising though was the lynx standing next him. It had a strange aura around it like a faint flickering light. It growled angrily at the crowd, showing its pure white canines. Some woman screamed and began to faint. Vladimir looked shocked as one of the men-guessing to be her husband-caught her as she fell. They all looked to be afraid of him and his lynx as they tried to shield themselves from him, some muttering prayers and making signs to ward off evil.

"Now," he began to speak, "I don't think I invited any of you here so I quite surprised. Do you mind explaining why you ar-"

"Stop making excuses, devil child." screamed one of the women, her shrill voice cutting him off. "You're the reason our crops failed to grow today."

"Maybe your crops failed to grow because it's getting colder. Maybe if you planted the seeds _earlier _in the year, then maybe you'd have some crops."

"You're one of those devil incarnates. Look, that's his familiar!" boomed one of the men, pointing to the fluffed and growling Feles, whose aura seemed to become brighter.

_Run child, _spoke Feles, _I will try to hold them off._

Vladimir took a step back, not taking his eyes of the crowd, before sprinting down the tall hill towards the fields. He did not look back but he didn't need to; the mob's growing chants for his death told it all. He avoided running through the town and instead he headed for the woods bordering the fields. It had a reputation for being haunted and the place for numerous suicides, so it was avoided by all cost by everybody.

He had not got very far into the woods before his familiar materialised beside him. It didn't look injured but it was tired and having trouble catching its breath.

"You okay?" asked Vladimir, looking over its fur and body for any sign of broken skin or blood, but there wasn't anything. Feles growled in annoyance and shook his head angrily.

"You fool, you still realise they are still after you? This forest will not keep them out forever, even if it is haunted."

"Wait, how do you know it's haunted?"

"Your grandfather and I used to train here. He and I wanted some peace whilst in here so he made up stories about there being a beast living here that brought diseases and evils like-"

"Suicides and ghosts."

"The best of the lies your grandfather told. Nothing scares a community than telling suicide stories, let me tell you."

Feles paused, his ears brought back and flattened against his skull, his fur becoming thicker and his canines grew. He looked more feral, like a real wild cat. Vladimir was startled by this sudden transformation. _What the hell?_

"They're setting fire to the forest."

"How can you tell?"

"I can smell the smoke from the plants. They're trying to flush us out."

Vladimir was about to ask another question when the smell of smoke hit his nose, sending him into a coughing fit. He didn't see the smoke though, so how he was able to smell it was a mystery.

"The fire is coming from the south-east; we need to go north to escape it if we don't want to be burnt to a crisp of die of smoke inhalation." Feles began to run, his fur becoming less thick and his feral look disappeared.

"But that's what they want us to do. They want us to run north; they'll probably have guards waiting on the outside border for us."

"They'll want to catch us; not kill us instantly. If I know anything about humans, they'll take any entertainment they can get."

"I hope your right."

They started to run faster, kicking up dirt and old leaves, jumping over fallen logs and branches, tripping over tree roots, splashing through small puddles left over from the last rainy season, visions becoming blurrier and blood pounding in their ears. Their legs and lungs burned and seared with pain but they wouldn't give up. The aftermath of smoke still burned in Vladimir's lungs but it wasn't as painful as before; it was more of an annoyance.

"Freeze devil!"

They were surrounded by five men, all armed with guns and swords and they were all begging for blood. Vladimir froze, desperately trying to catch his breath back. _It hurts_, he thought as one of the men came behind him and bound his wrists tightly with rope, the fibres biting into his skin and rubbing them uncomfortably, and hitting in the back of the head with the butt of his gun, causing him to fall to his knees as he lost unconscious.

* * *

_Thank you for reading this chapter and I hoped you enjoyed it._

_This will probably be my long running project though I might start a new series when this is reaching the conclusion. I won't be posting a chapter everyday because I do have a life and school but over holidays I might post something. I also need to start revision soon as well and I have numerous other clubs/after school stuff I need to do as well. _

_Please review and thanks again. _

CopperKitsune


	4. Chapter 3

_Okay, just to make things clear to where things take place in this strange, strange world in my mind. So this is the way I'm going to explain its Geography._

_There are 4 main continents: Nortaina, Estopa, Suterria and Orthica. (Yes, very original names, I know.) Arthur Kirkland (AKA England/Britain) comes from Nortaina, whilst Lukas Bondevik (AKA Norway) comes from the northern areas of Estopa and Vladimir Lupescu (AKA Romania) comes from the centre-slightly southern- Estopa._

_Nortaina is like a mixture of Great Britain, France and the Germanic states so good food but terrible weather, it is home to Arthur and Francis as well as Ludwig and other people no one cares about. Estopa is just a mix mash of the eastern countries, so you've got everyone from Norway to Hungary to Romania and Russia as well as the Asian countries like China and Vietnam who live in their own little communities in the farthest east. There are smaller little islands that are also inhabited by the small countries personified like Japan, Taiwan and Hong Kong. Suterria is home to a lot of the Mediterranean countries like Spain and Romano and the Balkans and Greece as well as Turkey and some of the named African countries Finally, there is Orthica which is home to America and Canada as well as Cuba. _

_Thank you to those who are either following/favoriting the story. It makes me happy; especially when you read the latest chapters. I'm sorry if the chapters are really long-believe me, they aren't that fun to write/read through- but after this one, the focuses will be switching depending on whom I feel like writing so I hope you won't get bored. Also, I solemnly swear that my little notes on the beginning won't be this long. _

_Warning! This chapter contains some torture like whipping and the use of the boot as well as burning at the stake. Big Warning, I actually enjoyed writing it and no, it is not because I'm sadistic but I actually liked the research. There was something I was going to use called The Pear but it really was horrifying so I didn't. And since Vlad's a boy… just, if you're going to look it up, be warned. _

_I don't own Hetalia, it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya._

_Please enjoy and review._

When Lukas awoke from his unconscious slumber, he had _not _expected to be greeted by a ghost. It was draped in a charcoal black cloak that obscured its face, if it even had a face, and floated at least 2 centimetres of the ground. It had no arms or hands nor feet or legs. It was just a body floating in mid air.

Lukas was lying on his side on a wooden bench with his back pressed up against the cold stone wall of his cell. The back of his head still hurt from his attack and his left side began to throb with pain from resting all his weight on it. He slowly sat up, never taking his eyes off of the ghost, and felt around his trouser pockets for a handkerchief, but he felt nothing.

"You wouldn't have a handkerchief would you?" he asked the ghost. It didn't reply, not even looking like it even acknowledged him.

"You don't talk much do you?" It still did not answer. Lukas sighed and began to look around the cell. Three of the walls were made out of old grey stone whilst the other had long metallic bars and a door. There was an incredibly high, but small, window, which showed a slightly cloudy late afternoon, to his left that was also barred off. The ground was made out of concrete and was just as cold as the walls. There wasn't anything else except for the bench he was sitting on, so Lukas deduced that this was a cell for people who were going to be here for one day. _What was I even here for? _he thought.

"Oh, yeah. That man. He thought I stole some money off him. Never seen him in my life though, he was definitely a strange guy. Must be new in town. I'll just tell the police in the morning when they come. Yeah that's what I'll do." He mused out loud, glancing at the thing every so often to see if he would respond. It didn't even move a muscle.

"Wow. Did your hit your head when you were a baby or were you just born stupid?" crowed a voice, echoing in Lukas' head, making Lukas flinch. The ghost still didn't respond.

"And know I'm hearing voices. I must be going crazy." He shook his head and gave a little scared laugh.

"And you're impolite as well. Didn't I get the short straw?" it chuckled; frightening Lukas further as he realised the voice wasn't his.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

"My name is Rafn. I'm your familiar if you hadn't guessed that already."

"Familiar huh?"

"You're surprisingly calm for somebody who just got told they have a familiar. You were more freaked out when you thought you had schizophrenia." Lukas shrugged.

"I've read enough fairy tales and fantasies when I was younger. I even had trolls as my friends when I was a kid. I even remembered why no one else could see them."

Rafn clucked with amusement, "A sign of magic if you had imaginary friends; they're hard to conjure up."

"So, why can't I see you then? Are you invisible or are you just in my head?" he asked, looking around the cell for any sign of Rafn. Suddenly, the window caught his eye and a long black shadow started to run down the frame like water. Lukas quickly stood up but never took his eyes off the flowing liquid-like shadow. Slowly, it began to crawl down the wall until it landed on the floor as it began to materialise into a normal sized raven with beautiful purplish-black feathers and midnight blue tips. It stared at him with blinking black eyes and hopped closer to him.

"You're a crow?" Rafn crowed in annoyance, flapping its wings with annoyance and anger.

"I'm a raven! Gees, are you blind as well?"

"They're the same thing."

"No, they're not."

"Both are birds and both have black feathers. The names different, that's all."

"Ravens, for _your _information, are much bigger than crows _and _we live for longer. Not to mention we don't have an irritating squawk. "

"Really? I never would have guessed."

Rafn smirked- if birds could smirk- and flew onto Lukas' right shoulder. Lukas winced a little with pain as Rafn's talons dug into his shoulder blade. He felt a slight tug on his curl and he slowly twisted his head as to not aggravate the aches along his neck and head.

"How long has he been there?"

"Huh?" he glanced at the unmoving ghost. "I dunno. He's been here since I woke up." Rafn flew from Lukas' shoulder and landed on the floor; his head tilted to the side.

"What is he?" asked Lukas, rubbing his right shoulder with his left hand as he tried to loosen the pain. Rafn didn't respond at first but he let out a loud scream. It rattled inside Lukas' head and the cell started to spin. It felt like it was splitting his head and the dull throb was already flaring up again. He felt himself black out and he landed on the bench, closing his eyes and holding his head with both hands, trying to block out the scream. It felt like an eternity before he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked up.

The ghost was right in front of him now and towered over him. The hood still obscured his face but now had wings like a birds and raven like feet. It started to speak.

"Are you okay? You were shaking." It sounded like Rafn's voice; only much lower and raspy.

"Rafn? Wha-what happened?"

"I teleported you out of the cell. I had to use the ghost's body though; I'm not strong enough to do it in my bird form. By transferring my energy into the ghost; my powers increased and I was able to teleport us both out of there.

"Where are we? I don't recognize this place."

Lukas looked around from where he was standing. It was a garden but it was unlike any garden he had seen before. It was filled with towering trees that Lukas recognized to be poplars, and the flowerbeds were filled with such mysterious and unusual plants. There was one that looked like a rose but whose petals were crystallised and diamond-like and another that looked like a lilac but the flowers were more metallic than natural. Just further were even more trees that held apples but these weren't normal apples; they were browner that juicy red and they were patterned with gold spirals. They did look delicious though. Even further beyond, Lukas could see a tall gothic looking house with beautiful dark windows and roof.

"Welcome to the Garden of Wonders or if you want to get technical; Lord Mordes' Garden."

"Mordes? Wait. You mean…"

"Hmm." he nodded, "The God of Death himself."

Lukas couldn't believe it. He was in the Land of the Dead. Yet, this wasn't what he was expecting. Of course, it was still a garden but he had expected skulls and demons and fire but not this. It looked rather serene and peaceful.

"Did you have any reason to bring me here?" he asked,"I mean, you could have brought me to the closest town or a forest."

"No. That ghost is one of Lord Mordes' clones; though still one of the weaker ones. If he was there, it meant two things. One was that Lord Mordes wanted me to come to you immediately. You see: one of the clone's special abilities is exhibiting energy that only familiars or those with magic talents can see. By placing it in your cell, with you, I was able to locate your position and find you. Ingenious eh?"

"What's the second thing?"

"By sending out a clone, he also wants us to come here. I sensed that once I found you in the execution cell. So I figured-"

"Wait a second. What do you mean "execution cell". That was a cell for people who were just going to spend the one night there. I'm innocent. I didn't recognize that man and I didn't steal anything of him either."

"That wasn't his lordships plan- the night in the execution cell. Originally, he wanted me to appear to you in your house or in a dream or something like that. Somebody must have messed with the man's memories to make him think that you stole money of him some time ago and then have you executed. Luckily, his lordship was able to find you and send a clone after you otherwise you'd be already dead."

"How would I be already dead though?"

"You're joking. And I thought you had magical talents."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I guessing you didn't smell anything bad like rotting eggs or vomit or-"

"A little but it was really faint."

"That's the smell of evil spirits. They were trying to kill you in your sleep but the clone warded them off. It kept you safe by casting a barrier around you and the cell. It must have been a weaker one or there were a lot more evil spirits there than usual if you smelt something bad whilst still under protection. But now that there's no barrier protecting your cell, I can bet that the cell is going to smell disgusting by tomorrow. You owe a lot to his lordship."

"Where is he anyway?"

Rafn looked puzzled for a second and shook his head, a little confused and bewildered, "I don't know. I don't sense him here so I guess he must be on the Surface. I hope he's not getting himself into trouble."

Lukas didn't reply and instead he looked around. He had to give the Lord of Death credit; he had a very good taste of aesthetics. Then, something caught his eye. It was another person; another man. He had blond hair and wore a simple outfit consisting of a long sleeved white shirt, black slacks and stylish black shoes. A large black dog was right next to him and sniffing to make sure he was okay and it looked like they were talking. It glanced upwards and met Lukas' eyes, sending an icy feeling up his spine. Rafn turned and dissolved into his raven form before cawing out.

"Hucksley! It's nice to see you again."

Arthur lent back in his chair and lazily started to tip it back against the wall. He could tell that the sun was beginning to set as his shadow became longer. How long had he been here, he wondered, at least a few hours or so. He was all alone and the room was completely silent except for the odd creaking of his chair. He had been left with nothing more than a cup of very weak tea and a half eaten stale biscuit which had been discarded to the side so after receiving it.

Upon arriving at the station, he was immediately led into the room and placed into the hard wooden chair. His handcuffs were taken off and he had rubbed them a bit afterwards- even during his questioning. They hadn't shone a light into his face like he expected but the questioning went on for a very, _very _long time-much longer than expected. Then Ludwig, for he was doing the questioning-left. He wanted to leave right then and there but something stopped him like invisible ropes were tying him down to the chair.

He pushed the chair forward a bit so all four legs were safely on the floor and started to fidget with his fingers and begun to inspect them for the fifth time. They weren't as soft as Francis' or any other rich persons but at the same time, they weren't like the fishermen's or builder's which were rough and strong. They were, however, covered in small scratches and scars. Most were from the hat making and stitching, when he had been too careless with the needle or pins, but the others were from his late night drinking where he would cut his hand on the bottle tops of beer bottles or shards of broken glass. He would wake up from the drinking, check his hands for any blood or injuries, wash them if they did and then e would wake up from the drinking, check his hands for any blood or injuries, wash them if they did and then put on band aids or bandages. His oldest and the most noticeable scar was on the back of his left hand that trailed from his ring finger to the part of the wrist near his thumb. He had been in a fight and one of the men had used a piece of sharp glass against him. The shard was large and sharp so he had put his hands up to defend himself with the man slicing the back of the left hand in the process. He didn't remember much from the fight but he had remembered it hurt _a lot. _It was also the only time he went to the hospital; it was during the time that he did have a little bit of extra money before the hard times had hit him. Now, he was being much more careful and wasn't drinking as much as he used to: it used to be twice per week but currently he had only been to the bar twice in the past month.

"Why," he whispered, "why, Oh Lord Almighty does this have to happen to me? I only went out for a drink _once _and the night I do also happens to be the night that Daniel Morgan is murdered. Can't you just give me a break for once, for once in my _god damn _life?!" His whisper started to transform into a shout. He slammed his hands on the tables, shaking the crockery and plate, before planting his head firmly on the table with his hands behind them. He started to take in deep breaths to calm himself down but it was no use. He was just _so_ mad.

"Why are you so upset? You're innocent, remember?"

"Huh? What the-"Arthur lifted his head and looked across the table. There he saw a large black shaggy dog with burning red eyes like saucers and large white canines. Arthur didn't move a muscle, or even breathe, as he stared at the hound in front of him. It cocked his head to the side before opening its mouth and spoke.

"Are you okay?"

At that moment, he jumped from his seat and the chair legs and his became tangled in the process, leading him to fall painfully on the floor, directly onto his right hand. Thankfully, it didn't feel like it was broken but it still hurt and Arthur winced with pain as he tried to move it. The dog moved hurriedly to his side and started to like his hand; the rough tongue scraping over his scars. Arthur was completely still as this strange dog licked his hand. The strangest thing was that his hand wasn't hurting that much now; actually, it didn't hurt at all.

"Wh-wh-what are you?"

"You don't recognize me do you?"

"You-you're that voice I heard when I was arrested? You're Hucksley." The dog nodded and barked; happy that he could somewhat remember him.

"I also visited you this morning in the bushes. I wanted to greet you then but you were interrupted."

"Oh yeah, that was Francis-the stupid frog. Wait a sec." he paused, "I know this might sound weird but did you leave my kitchen window open?"

"I did. I wanted to get your attention so… yeah."

"And I'm guessing you also left the water jug on the table for me, right?" there was another nod from Hucksley. "And the bread?" Again, Hucksley nodded.

"I hoped you liked it. It took me a while but it was worth it."

"Wait, did you make it yourself? The last time I checked, dogs don't have the ability to make bread."

"I had some _other _help. There were the best of the business so I used their talents to make the bread."

"Thanks, it was really nice. How did you get in here anyway?"

"Every familiar had four abilities: one of them is healing, another is teleportation and the other two are different for each one. I have the ability of intangibility and necromancy, which means I can pass through solid matter and I have control over ghosts."

"So… the bread was made by ghosts?"

"Um…yeah. You're not too freaked out are you?"

"Ghosts made the most delicious bread I have ever tasted. I'm more impressed than freaked to be honest." Hucksley breathed a sigh of relief.

"Why are you here anyway?"

"I've come to help you escape. We need to leave now."

"I can't right now. I need to stay here so I can be released, then I'll come with you. It won't be that long anyhow, they'll be back soon. I'm sure of it."

"You won't be leaving here, Arthur. We need to leave now." By this time, Hucksley had grabbed onto Arthur's sleeve and was tugging at it fiercely. Arthur started to struggle.

"I'm innocent. I didn't kill anyone."

"They don't believe that. That blond hair man is away and signing your execution papers as we speak." Arthur stopped, his face filled with bewilderment.

"What?" he whispered, shaking his head, not trying to believe his words. "Bu-but I-I-"

"Arthur," Hucksley whispered softly, "you were drunk at the night of the murder; you were leaving about the same _time_ when the murder took place and worst of all; you had a grudge against him. Daniel Morgan was a well known and respected man of the town; people want his murder to come to justice. You're the best they can find so-"

"I'm going to die."

"In the simplest way to put it; yes. By tomorrow, you are going to be hung in the public square. Then your body is going to be thrown into an unmarked grave-or ditch- alongside other criminals."

"You're not helping me boost my confidence, Hucksley."

"Sorry. After you've been around so many ghosts, you loose all sense of sensitivity to human kind. Especially to the murders."

"What about a trial? Surely-"Hucksley shook his head.

"No such thing I'm afraid. It's an open and shut case as far as they're concerned. Now, are you going to come with me?"

"Will it be better than being here?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll go with you."

At that moment, Hucksley stood a step back and ran into the middle of the room. He lifted his head and howled. It rattled the room and made Arthur shake as a cold sensation ran down his spine to his toes. The world swirled and dissolved into inky black and purple as the room disappeared. It only took a blink and Arthur felt something soft underneath his fingers. It felt like grass and the softness brushed against his skin.

He was surrounded by a large garden; it was dark but very beautiful. He recognized the shapes of familiar flowers-roses, daisies and daffodils to name a few- but they didn't look like real flowers. They were either crystallised-the roses- or their colours weren't the same-whoever knew that daisies looked better with blue petals rather than white?

"This is amazing. Where is this place?" he asked Hucksley who was checking his body for any wounds or injuries. Suddenly Hucksley turned his head, his ears perked, and lightly growled. Arthur was surprised by Hucksley's ferocity and he too turned his head to be greeted by the sight of a young man with sandy brown hair and blue eyes staring back at him, as well as the sight of a raven.

"Hucksley! It's nice to see you again."

Hucksley bounded from Arthur's side and ran towards the raven with jaws open, showing his magnificent array of white fangs. The raven cawed again and flew up into the air, trying to avoid Hucksley's jaws, and started cawing again. Hucksley dropped into a playful crouch before springing in the air, snapping its jaws, almost catching one of the raven's talons, before it quickly pulled away and flew little higher. The raven laughed at him before flying to the young man's shoulder and nipped at a loose bang in his hair. The man nodded to Arthur.

"Who are you?"

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. And you are…"

"Lukas Bondevik. I'm from the north east of Estopa. I'm guessing from your accent your from Nortaina."

"The east, yes."

"I hoping you know where we are. Cause sure as bloody hell I don't."

"The Garden of Wonders or better referred to as Lord Mordes' Garden. You know, the-"

"God of Death. No bloody kidding. So this is the Land of the Dead."

"Actually," cut in the raven, "this is only a little bit of it. The rest isn't as beautiful as this."

"Really?"

"The rest of the Land of the Dead is more of a giant park with flowers, yes, but its nothing like this. But it could be worst. The worse the person you were when you were alive, the worse the punishment. There are four levels in all; this is the first layer you could say. It's called the Garden of Wandering Souls. Over the poplar trees is the garden itself with all of the wandering souls that are waiting for judgement. It'll take a few years but they'll be judged, then they'll either be reborn or move onto one of two layers."

"Those whose were, for the most part, a good person will be reborn into a new life with no recollection of their previous life and gender. So if they died as a man, they might be reborn as a woman."

"Anyhow," continued Hucksley," the first layer isn't terrible. It's called the Valley of Asphodels. That layer is the largest and is only for those who have committed crimes enough to warrant them not being reborn, yet still not enough to go to the third layer. The worst is that they'll keep their memories forever, so they'll constantly be reminded of their previous actions."

"Then we have the third layer: the Fields of the Damned and Punishment. Those who were truly evil in their lifetime will go there. They are punished and tortured for eternity and they experience some of the worst pain and humiliation anyone can feel. There aren't many people in the third layer though; about one in twenty souls go there."

"You said there was four layers to the Land of the Dead; what's the final layer?" asked Arthur to the raven and Hucksley. Lukas also looked intrigued. Both animals looked at each other hesitantly like they weren't really supposed to talk about it. Finally, the raven spoke, though solemnly.

"The lowest layer, the final layer, is known as Caged Eternal Hell. It holds some of the most powerful demons in the ancient world before Lord Mordes imprisoned them here. Some of them agreed to become his subordinates, but those who refuse it are sent here. He doesn't kill them; he just imprisons them to keep them from rampaging. No familiar is allowed there; he only allows hellhounds to work there."

"The most dangerous demon is known as Inazaru." The raven and the hound shivered at the mention of the name, before the raven continued, "You see he was one of three leaders of the demon forces back in the ancient times. When Lord Mordes defeated him and the other leaders he locked them in the Caged Eternal Hell. The other two leaders were weak enough when they were defeated to be sealed away in a special containment. Inazaru wasn't so weakened when he was defeated, though, so Lord Mordes had to chain him in a special cell to make sure that he will never escape and cause another rampage."

"Speaking of Lord Mordes," Hucksley asked the raven," where is he anyway? I thought he was going to meet us here in the garden." The raven nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, there was a loud rumble and the earth began to shake once more. Arthur fell suddenly to his knees like an overwhelming force was pulling his down towards the earth. Lukas must have felt it too because he was forced onto his knees immediately at the same time as Arthur. Only the raven and Hucksley looked unperturbed by this sudden event, either because they were used to it or that they were much stronger than he or Lukas. Arthur, with all of his pride, hoped it was the former.

The raven and hound looked towards the west where they must have sensed something because at that second, they both called out.

"My Lord Mordes!"

When Vladimir was quite young, he had been nicknamed as 'eccentric' by his playmates. Often, they would spot him reading -under a favourite tree in his extensive garden- a fairy tale book. It wasn't the actual book that the children think that he was eccentric, but was the fact that he would spout rather gruesome or cruel facts whilst in mid reading. He was once reading a tale about a friendship between a fairy and a human when he had spouted a story about a couple who had treated their changeling child by flogging him and even sticking it in a oven, where he would proceed to give gory details about the proceeded cooking, whereas the children had now run away in fright.

Nobody, however, would have expected him to have been the cause of so much of the crop failure. They were, like much of central Estopa, quite traditional and were very proud of their folklores and stories, as well as their belief of witchcraft. The Lupescu family was one such family that most of the townspeople had kept under their radar, in case of any great incident or accident that befell them. It would be easy to target them; they had a long and grand lineage of sorcerers and magic folk, so they could not defend themselves when being accused of witchcraft. They had to wait though, for it never seemed to be the right time to accuse them. The crop failure that harvest was perfect and those who believed that the Lupescu's had nothing to do with it where easily persuaded by the risk of famine. They had it all planed out with everything to the last, precise detail. What they hadn't expected was the untimely arrival of the Lord of Death.

When Vladimir had awoken from his short slumber, he had found himself within a wooden crate with prickly straw along the bottom and a tiny rectangular window in front of him with miniature iron bars. Feles was sleeping at his feet with both his feet tied and a rough metallic muzzle being placed over top his jaw. He looked so peaceful, unlike Vladimir.

Vladimir's hands were roughly bound in front of him with coarse rope that cut his skin and created red marks and bruises. His mouth was also gagged by an old cloth that made it increasingly harder to breathe through, so he had to resort to his nose. His legs and arms were beginning to cramp and the pain in his head flared once more. The smell of smoke still lingered in his nose from the previous escape from the burning forest and it stung. The occasional jolt of the cart over stones threw him up in the air briefly, before landing hard back down on his bruised backside. _It couldn't get much worse, can it? _ He briefly wondered before the cart stopped and the crate was being lifted before being dropped on the ground and opened to the sights of three faces, all with sadistic smiles.

_This is not going to end well_.

Vladimir was handled roughly as he was pushed and forced to walk up the stairs to the prison. He didn't like the look of it one bit. He knew, from his books, that this prison was once a castle owned by a powerful knight before he died in combat. It was because of his untimely death, the family that lived there sold it to pay back his debts and so the castle became a prison. It was damp and wet and cold and the floor stung his feet as he forced to walk. He walked right past the prisoners in the cells and his head was forced down, and was half dragged by a guard in front by a rope leash. Not many of the prisoners acknowledged him but those who did nodded in respect and pity.

The room they came to was a large and dark room with a few little windows over looking the road and forest beyond. It didn't brighten the room though, especially for what it contained. There were millions of different objects scattered around like some sick, demented child's nursery room. Near the back, where he was being led to, was a wooden cross with two iron chains hanging from the ends of the T. Beneath it was a small pool of dried blood and Vladimir realised what it was. His shirt was torn from his back and he was pushed onto the cross where two other men held his wrists and shackled them to the wood.

"By the orders of the High Court, you will be punished from your actions of practising witchcraft by flogging, subjection to the Boot and then being burned at the stake. You will be subjected to 100 lashes. I will keep count." Another guard, probably the taskmaster, approached him and whispered his apologizes. Vladimir shrugged them off.

"Begin!"

The first crack of the whip struck Vladimir's back quickly and was followed by the second, then the third, then the fourth and fifth. If Vladimir had been almost asleep, then this would have surely woken him up. The continuous stings broke his skin and refused to relent the pain as Vladimir begun to scream. The blood did not begin to run until the sixtieth lash or so, yet the taskmaster did not give up. He was still continuously flogging him as his blood flew from the air by the force of the whip and the long streams of crimson life flowed down his back. His skin became marred and torn with the tender red welts ripping and blooming before his very eyes. Every second was complete and utter agony.

By the time he was finished, his back was on fire and his voice was sore from his screams. The guards unlocked the shackles and unable to keep himself upright, he fell limp to the floor. He felt himself being lifted by the arms and was being half-carried, half-dragged to a wooden table with the same iron shackles. His back screamed in further pain as he was placed on his back and the hard wood touched the marks with him trying to grit his teeth and stop the whimpers of pain from exiting his lips. Then he caught sight of _that. _The Boot.

This type was the simple, yet horrifying, design which was made out of four wooden boards nailed together and once the leg was enclosed, wedges would be hammered between the boards, creating a great amount of pressure. From what it said in his books, this particular device was the first choice to get confessions out of people.

He felt four hands having to hold his leg still as the boot was fitted over it and secured. Vladimir tried to slow his heart and breathing as he felt the first pinches of the pressure from the wedges.

_Just keep breathing, Vladimir. You'll be okay. Breathe in. Breathe out._

Another wedge was hammered in.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

The pressure was building. A slight pain was setting in. Vladimir felt it but tried not to notice.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

More wedges were being hammered in. More pressure with even more pain. He was having a harder time staying calm. His head started to get dizzier and he felt himself begin to faint as the pain grew.

_In. .Out._

_Crack!_

Vladimir screamed. The pain from his leg came flooding in. He could stop it. It just wouldn't stop hurting. His head wouldn't stop spinning and he felt lighter. It wasn't a second later than he went completely limp.

He woke up a few hours later in a dingy cell with a dripping ceiling and cold floors. He was lying on his right side with his back facing the wall and his left leg-primarily his ankle and the lower part of his shin-was badly swollen and well as awkwardly twisted. It pained him further to look at it so he turned away. He was also greeted to the sight of a tied up Feles with a heavy metal muzzle and his right ear badly torn, with dried blood crusted around it. Feles gave a light growl which, to some people would interpret it as anger, though Vladimir knew it was more of concern.

"You were mumbling in your sleep. Are you okay?"

"I-it hurts." It was all he could say as more pain from his back flooded in. He cringed and Feles looked more concerned.

"If only I wasn't tied; I could heal you."

Vladimir didn't reply; he was already unconscious and unresponsive.

When he came to once more, he was tied up against another pole, though this one was much thicker and heavier. Around him he was surrounded by dry hay and sticks and right in front of him was a growling and twitching Feles. He looked up and saw a huge crowd of men and women, as well as children and the elderly. They began to boo at him and it must have taken a lot just to stop themselves from throwing objects to him. He was wearing a plain white shirt again but the fabric did nothing to stop the throbbing pain on his back. His ankle hurt worst then ever, though he wasn't directly standing on it, and he began to sweat.

He had blocked out the noise of the announcer as well as most of the jeers from the crowd, but nothing stopped him from blocking out the sound of the first few flames as they caught fire on the sticks like they were nothing more than paper. He struggled fiercely; _I will not die like this! _He thought determinedly, but as the air became hotter and more difficult to breathe, he was having trouble focussing. The once proud and calm Feles was now shrieking as the flames licked at his whiskers and tail, but he could do nothing. The crowd grew more and more excited as they watched him struggle further.

Then, he heard a loud roar of anger and the sky grew darker as storm clouds cut of the suns light. Somebody shrieked and people became to scream or gasp in horror. A dark twister appeared from the sky and landed right in front of the burning pyre. Tens upon hundreds of small dogs with flames on their backs leapt from the twister and chased the people and guards as they ran for their lives. But nobody saw the black hooded figure that stepped out of the twister and snuffed out the flames, except for Vladimir. The ropes were suddenly cut loose from his ankles and wrists and he dropped down. He landed on his left foot and he screamed as so much pain flooded his leg. He felt like he was going to die and with every sensation leaving him, he began to fall. Thankfully the rescuer caught him and positioned him in his arms. He heard Feles talking quickly but he couldn't make most of it out.

_Lord… land…others…shelter…care…thank…_

The last thing he remembered was staring up at the face of a young man with brown, almost black hair, fiery red eyes, dressed in a black cape, before everything turned to inky blackness.

_Finally. You would not believe how long that took me to write that. I had to rewrite it like 3 times because of it being a really awkwardly paced scene. It was also supposed to be out yesterday but my 4 sheets of Art won't finish themselves!_

_Sorry if the chapter's too long, I know some people who hate really long chapters that seem to drag on but these are also the same people who complain about reading a book for a review. _

_And on that note, please review so I know how to improve it._

CopperKitsune


	5. Chapter 4

_Please read and enjoy._

_I need some help with names: two OC, both are familiars, evil and working for Inazaru. I've got one name but the other two are really difficult. One is a female snake familiar and the other is a male crow familiar but coming up with names is tricky and I don't know where to start. _

**The Hollow Crown**

**Chapter 4**

The first thing Vladimir felt was the dull throb of his back and the slightly more painful feel of his left ankle as he tried to move. He was slowly trying to push himself up but a gentle hand pushed his back down again before stroking his left cheek lovingly. He then felt a cold feeling of a wet cloth being placed on his forehead with the little droplets flowing down his head. It felt so nice against his hot head and pounding headache. The hand kept stroking his cheek and he heard himself whimper in pain and pity. A voice cooed but it sounded distant and it was more like it was being echoed, but it still was nice. Another voice joined in but it was more like chanting and it sounded rougher and more masculine. Suddenly, his head seemed to clear and the voices didn't seem so far away anymore. He still didn't have the energy to open his eyes and he felt himself beginning to fall asleep. He struggled to stay awake and he desperately didn't want to fall asleep again.

"It's okay. Go to sleep, you are safe." And with that he surrendered and began to sleep.

Vladimir awoke to find himself in a beautifully carved bed with dark wood and a beautiful red canopy and soft wine coloured sheets and comforter, alongside very softer white pillows. He stared from the head at the bed and looked at the posts before gasping as he saw an unmistakable, diagonal scratch that, despite its shortness in length, was actually quite deep. He struggled to sit upright, pushing and moving the pillows behind him to make himself more comfortable and not to irritate the welts from the whip. It took a while but he was able to sit up by himself and look around his surroundings. He looked and he saw he was wearing a dark brown shirt and black trousers along with a cloth belt keeping them up.

It wasn't at all familiar, with dark walls and shelves upon shelves of books all sizes from a few pages to at least a 500 pages. There was a desk and an interesting polished chair with several empty flasks and a quill feather with its tip and half of the feather dunked in ink. There was a window but it was further away than where he was sitting, but he could see the forest surrounding the house he was in. The floor was completely wooden but there was a nice circular rug in the middle of the rooms as well as a smaller one either side of the bed along with a pair of soft brown shoes.

There was a knock at the door and it was pushed open, revealing a beautiful woman with white hair and gold eyes. She was wearing a saffron coloured dress with only thin straps and straw sandals, revealing her perfect arms and smooth legs. In her arms, she carried a bowl of cold water and a small green bottle. Feles was behind her and was carrying a cloth in his mouth and jaws. Vladimir almost didn't recognize him; his fur was smooth and shiny, there was no blood on his ear and he eyes were bright and cheerful.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. You've been asleep for quite a while; three days in fact. I'm glad you're up, it means that you are recovering nicely." She moved to the right side of the bed and sat on it, followed suit by Feles who jumped up beside the left side but managed to avoid the leg which Vladimir was grateful for. She opened the bottle and poured a thick, gooey pistachio coloured liquid onto the spoon whilst Vladimir recoiled in disgust as he smelt the familiar smell of sour milk and a mixture of freshly caught fish and the sickly smell of caramel. It also made him throw up. She moved the spoon closer to his mouth but he kept it tightly shut.

"You'll recover quicker if you take it." Vladimir still refused to open his mouth.

_I'd rather recover normally than take that. I can't swallow it! The colours are horrible as well as that stench._

She sighed, "Please Vladimir."

"Hu-huh? How did you know-"and as quick as he had opened his mouth, the woman plunged the spoon into his mouth and the liquid slid down his throat like he had swallowed slime. He coughed and spluttered as the stench filled his mouth and his taste buds screamed in agony. He bent over and the woman stroked his back gently, trying not to cause any pain.

Once he had recovered his composure, he was gently placed back down on the pillows and laid down. He heard the noise of water before the cloth was placed over his forehead again, cooling him down and making him sigh. There was something else in that water too; for some reason, the cloth smelt like flowers.

"Now, I know you've just woken up. But the potion is more effective if you sleep or rest, so the aroma should help you get to sleep. I'm counting on you Feles to make sure he falls asleep, okay?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Very good."

He heard the door shut and the faint steps echoing down the corridor beyond, until everything was quiet. Feles was settling himself down to Vladimir's right side, leaning his head onto his chest and gently growled-his version of a purr.

"I recognize this bed; it was my grandfather's. That scratch was from when Andrei and I had a sword fight. I cut the post pretty badly and then the maids got very angry. Bunic didn't though; he just laughed." He paused for a second, remembering how his grandfather never seemed to get angry at him or his brother, even if they did something incredibly stupid. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was always smiling and that he was always positive. He didn't know. "I don't recognize this room though. Where are we?"

"This is one of the rooms of Lord Mordes' mansion. He doesn't use it much and there was a lot of room so he conjured a bed and made this your recovery room. Really, though, we're in the Land of the Dead."

"I going to take a wild guess than and say that man who rescued us was Mordes." Feles chuckled and nodded.

"We were very lucky that he came when he did. Any later, and we would burned to a crisp on that pyre."

Vladimir lifted his right arm and put it across his face, trying to remember the face of the god who rescued him. All he could remember was that he had brown hair and red eyes. Apart from that, he didn't remember a thing. _Wait, _he thought,_ who was that woman, a servant?_

"Her name is Lady Sominæ, if you're curious. I'm more surprised, though, that you knew Mordes but not Lady Sominæ; she has the most famous depictions. Like Romulus Vargas'-"

"_The Golden Maiden, looking over a lake. _Of course! How could I be so stupid?" _The Golden Maiden_ was Romulus Vargas' most famous paintings and he got a lot of money for it. His grandfather was an avid collector of antiques and a fan of Vargas' work, especially _The Golden Maiden. _He even had an artist to replicate the painting and he kept it hidden away. Vladimir had only seen it a few times since then; once or twice when he was young, and once more when he was clearing out his grandfather's items. It was just a beautiful young woman that was sitting by the side of a lake, wearing a long sleeved gold dress and a shawl that looked to be made out of feathers, with no footwear and her white hair being curled and twisted into a low bun. She seemed at peace and her beauty radiated of her. It was rumoured that the painting was from Romulus' youth, when he was walking near a lake in his home town and he saw the goddess Sominæ sitting by it, looking into the water. It must have had a profound effect on him because it took him nearly 10 years to get it absolutely perfect. But, it was worth it. Some of his other paintings of the landscapes and the countryside as well as the occasionally use of painting on vases were somewhat deemed successful, but it was only when _The Golden Maiden _was put on exhibition and up for auction that he became famous. They loved the style and the pure beauty that the painting processed, and ever art critic acclaimed it as a masterpiece and praising the unique style of the appearance of the goddess, making her look more modern yet style making her seems timeless. His paintings became even more famous when Romulus died and his works were sold off by his two heirs; Feliciano and Romano Vargas. They were painters as well- something that ran in the family, Vladimir suspected-but they sold their works for charity exhibition rather than making money. They had enough of their grandfather's to sustain them.

Vladimir was surprised, upon meeting Sominæ in person, how much Romulus had got _right. _The face was almost as perfect as in the painting and everything else was so close to being perfect to being perfect. _Maybe Romulus Vargas __**did see **__Sominæ. There are too many coincidences to say he hasn't._

Vladimir let out a loud yawn and he realised how tired he was. The aromas in the cloth seemed to be helping as he let out another yawn. Feles was licking his paws and started to make himself more comfortable by hid right side. Vladimir reached over and cautiously stroked Feles' neck and scratched behind the ears. Feles lightly growled and nuzzled his head next to his hand. Vladimir chuckled.

"I didn't know you like to be stroked and scratched."

"I'm a cat familiar, Vladimir. Of course I like it, especially the ears. Yeah, just keep doing that and I won't scratch you. Anyway, humans like their feet rubbed so what's wrong with me liking my ears scratched."

"Good point." Vladimir paused and yawned again, sinking back down in the soft pillows. His scratching movements were getting slower and slower as he sunk farther into the pillows. Feles was still nuzzling his hand as he fell asleep.

Vladimir found himself in on a hill, with trees and forests as far as the eyes could see. It was night and the pale moon was shining down on him, reflecting of his hair and face, making him seem paler than before. He was bare foot and the grass tickled his feet as it moved with the wind. Yet there was no sound of trees rustling nor even the sight of rustling leaves. The air turned colder and he began to shake from the cold air brushing against his cheek like fingers.

"So," echoed a voice, startling Vladimir, "you survived. You've got guts, I'll give you that."

"Who are you?" Vladimir shouted, "Show yourself. Now."

The voice laughed, the sound echoed inside Vladimir's head, making him visibly shake. "I can't. For I have no body and no vessel. I am just a voice."

"Answer my question: who are you?"

"I have many names, child. I am known as the Pestilence, the Thousand Eyes and the Storm Bringer. You, however, may call me Rotte."

"Okay, _Rotte. _What are you?"

"What do you think, hm? Give me a taste of you knowledge. I want to see if you are really as smart as your grandfather said you were."

"What has this got to do with my grandfather?"

"Patience child, you will know soon enough. Now, tell me, what am I?"

"You're not human, that's for sure."

"Correct."

"Your name does sound familiar though, I think my grandfather mentioned you once. I don't remember what he said though; it might have been along the lines of a disgusting creature from the depths of the sewers."

"What an honour." The voice said sarcastically. Vladimir guessed if it had a body it would have been rolling its eyes, but he ignored it.

_He's not a human, is he a spirit? Or a demon? _He thought when Rotte interrupted.

"You amuse me child, you think I am a spirit or a demon? You are wrong; I am a familiar."

"Of whom?"

"Excuse me?"

"A familiar has to have a master; isn't that the rules? So, I'll ask again, who is your master?" Vladimir smiled, showing his slightly larger canines, to the voice. It didn't answer-it didn't even make a noise- but instead the air seemed to get colder and colder, creating a light dusting of frost on the ground. Snow started to fall as well-much to Vladimir's dismay- and was caught up in the wind. It started to swirl and a figure seemed to appear from the wind. He was tall and handsome, with short hair and a slightly muscular but lithe body. He was wearing what looked to be a tunic and trousers with a metallic breast plate and gloves. His expression was cold and he looked at Vladimir with disdain. Vladimir just stared with confusion; he swore he had seen the figure somewhere before, it looked so familiar. He shook this thought away; this thing hadn't answered his question.

"I'll ask you again and this time, answer it. Who is your master?"

"If I told you _now_, it'll ruin the fun." He started to walk away slowly, not turning back. Vladimir felt like he was frozen to the stop, unable to move, but then he felt something warm surround him, from his back to his legs to his neck. He felt the world shake and the different shades of green blended into one. Then, everything went black.

Vladimir awakened to not find the dark room but instead he was in what looked like a glass gazebo with the windows showing a beautiful field and a blue sky. He was laying on a smaller bed-a little more than half the size of his grandfather's- with a white duvet and blankets and black pillows. Feles was sound asleep on the wooden flooring to his left with a small blanket underneath him with a fur trimming.

He swung his legs over and inspected his aching legs. He was barefoot but he saw that his left foot was wrapped in bandages from the ankle. He bent down and rolled up the trouser leg, finding that his ankle and much of his leg below the knee was wrapped in bandages, as well as a plank of wood resting against its ankle to straighten it out. He stood on his feet but he decided to put more weight onto his right foot and he limped towards the door. He opened the door and stepped outside.

It wasn't like the field in the glass of the gazebo; it was nearly the exact opposite. Instead of a blue sky, the sky was dark and full of clouds, and the lush green fields were replaced by forests and strange looking flowers.

"This is incredible."

"It should be. Mordes put a lot of effort into his garden; it's his pride and joy after all."

Vladimir turned and came face to face with Sominæ, who was still in her summer dress but was now wearing softer shoes on her feet. He bowed his head, unable to kneel, and she laughed before curtsying a little as well. Then, she turned away but spoke.

"Come and walk with me."

She started to walk away and Vladimir followed her. They walked through what felt like endless flower gardens and trees. Neither of them spoke a single word until Sominæ turned towards him and asked.

"You must have a lot of questions. You can ask me if you like."

"Why did Mordes save me? I mean, he isn't really known for his benevolence or anything."

"You're a descendant of Ştephan Lupescu, correct? So why do you ask me why Mordes saved you?"

"Because I'm of magic descendent?" she nodded.

"It was very long time ago but Mordes used to be more associated with magic rather than death itself. It was only after the Demonic Wars that people forgot his patronage of sorcery and they hunted his followers down until they were all wiped out."

"How long ago was it?"

"I'm thinking at least 600 or 700 years ago. But the Demonic Wars took place at least 100 years or so before." She paused, "Mordes was traumatised when civilians started to hunt people in their own villages, and then when they tortured and killed them…" she shuddered at the memory.

Vladimir couldn't help shudder as well, remembering the agonising pain as the whip flogged his back and the Boot breaking his shin bone and ankle. It started to ache a little so he put a little less weight on it. It must have felt worse 600 years ago; he didn't wonder how brutal the tortures were compared to now.

"Does Mordes still practice magic?"

"Not as much as he used to but he still practices like a few times a month or so. Even so, he doesn't need to; his skill in every form is unimaginable from Necromancy to Weather control to healing. It's thanks to him, your leg with only need to be bandages and put in a splint for another few days rather than 6 weeks."

"Even so, he's not perfect. I mean, he makes mistakes quite often. He doesn't like to listen to me or my brother and when he does get something wrong, he won't admit it. He can be so stubborn."

"My brother Andrei's like that; he'll only admit that he was wrong after my grandfather would bribe him with something. Like this one time Andrei somehow was able to flood the upstairs area and by the time he admitted that he had accidentally left the tap running, the half of the sweets from the sweet jar was in my brother's mouth and the carpets and walls were completely ruined." He and Sominæ laughed, before something hit him like a ton of bricks.

"What am I doing here?! Andrei could be de-huh?" Sominæ put a hand on his shoulder.

"Andrei is fine, he was a little shaken up but he's okay. He's currently being protected by one of Mordes' familiars, just in case any of the other villagers try to attack him."

"What about the villagers? They'll know I'm not dead."

"I'm not so sure to be honest. They've been pretty quiet since the incident and the last time I heard, they weren't searching for you. They probably think that you're dead; you got carried off by the Lord of Death after all."

"That means I won't be able to go back though."

"Unfortunately yes. You may be thought to be dead now, but one sight of you and-"

"I'll be put back on that post and pyre again."

Sominæ looked grim faced as Vladimir took in the news. He could never go back to his home. He would never see the beautiful hills at sunset, the old buildings lining the streets, the bright colours at festival time or the scenic mountains in the distance. He would never have a chance to walk inside the house and be greeted by the grand hallway in its magnificence, nor the smell of freshly baked bread from the kitchen or the sight of the large lawns in the back. He wouldn't see Andrei again and worse, he couldn't visit his grandpa's grave. That hurt him the most.

Sominæ could do nothing but hug him as he started to shake, but even a goddess can't heal everything.

_I am so sorry for this being so late. First I had to make a revision schedule, then I had like 3pieces homework due for two different days and it's cricket season so I'm going to be practicing a lot more now and the next few weeks/month is full of exams. So, it might be a while until the next update. I also had to rewrite the last few paragraphs because I got really confused._

_Also, mention of Romano and Veneziano in this chapter. And yes, both of them are gong to be in the story so I get to write Romano's dialogue, so expect some swearing _

_I kinda made Vladimir a bit weird in this chapter and a lot of Sominæ in this as well. Don't worry; Lukas and Arthur are going to be in the next chapter- and history will be explained, including the Demonic Wars and such- as well as the trio finally meeting. _

_Please review- it makes me really happy._

CopperKitsune


	6. Chapter 6

**The Hollow Crown**

**Chapter 5**

* * *

"You're not from around here, are you stranger?"

The man looked up from his large mug of beer into the face of a young man with hazel eyes, slightly more green than brown, with short almost black hair. He wore peasant clothes; a ragged brown sleeveless jacket, a darker shirt and torn trousers of the same colour. His shoes seemed the cleanest thing on him; they were soft and were tied with white string. He didn't speak like a peasant though; his speech was too formal and even quiet, not like the poor who were always telling stupid jokes that he didn't get and could fill the room as soon as they spoke. The thing that drew his eyes, however, was the large scar on his left cheek that looked like he had been caught on the end of the tip of a whip and the numerous scars on his hands.

"How can you tell?"

"Only a stranger to this area wouldn't know what that beer contains, and before you ask, you don't want to know."

"Anything else I should know?"

The young man paused, "If you have any magic abilities or come from family who has a history with magic, heck, if you have an absurd amount of luck or good fortune, then all I can say if get out of here. Get out of here before you find yourself locked up and waiting for-" he stopped himself, paused and continued-"Please excuse that last bit. Bad experiences."

The man nodded sympathetically and held out his hand," Stefan Lorenz."

The young man paused but shook his hand, albeit warily, "Andrei Lupescu. Nice to meet you too."

Andrei and Stefan spent most of the night talking and joking, the latter being made by Stefan, and discussing their lives. Stefan went first; he was from Nortaina, had a brother and a sister-both younger, both his parents were dead and he had been living in Estopa for just a few weeks. He was going to be working as a merchant for a small company and he just started work yesterday. Andrei took some persuading but finally relented and told him _his _life. He was the youngest of two and had an older brother named Vladimir, he didn't remember his parents and for as long as he remembered, he had always been living with his grandpa who was now dead. He liked gardening and sold some of his fruits and veg to families and other farmers.

When Stefan asked of the scars on his cheek and hands, he seemed very reluctant but after buying the next round of drinks, both with a slight shot of alcohol to sweeten it up, he started talking. Andrei talked how he found an angry mob at his door that stormed in, demanding his brother, how they scorned him and cursed him for being a devil's child, chasing after him and tying him up, how Andrei looked on in horror as they carted him away, how they had knocked him out and carted him away also, though not to the same jail. He later heard his brother went missing the day of his execution, and how the men came and… and…. Andrei stopped, decided to skip the gruesome details of the tortures, but explained that they thought he had something to do with it and were worried that he too was a devil's child, so they decided to beat the information out of him. He pleaded and wept and told them he knew nothing, that he was just as surprised as he was and that he had no magical powers. They believed him, but for a cost. He was being watched wherever he went for any sign that he was lying and then it would start all over again. Andrei refused to let it happen; he had only to look into a mirror to remind him why.

Stefan offered up sympathies and apologized, he had to leave otherwise… Andrei nodded and wished him luck on his job and happiness before downing his drink and asking for another. It was going to be a long night for him at least.

* * *

Stefan shook off the cold breeze that nipped at his face and body, focussing on the boulder instead. He touched the runes with his right fingers.

"Aperi." he whispered. The runes and markings turned white and he heard a deep guttural rumbling, like a dragon trying to clear his throat. Slowly, the boulder slid out of place and a dark tunnel was revealed, long and cold. Without a second glance, he went inside, making sure that the boulder was back in place, giving no indication that it had been moved.

_It's impossible for humans to move it anyway, _thought Stefan as he entered deeper into the tunnel. There were sounds all around him, from the faint dripping of water from the stalactites to the loud echoing footsteps as he walked. He was on his feet and his instincts were going crazy, but he didn't calm down or let down his guard.

The tunnel started to narrow and Stefan was forced to duck his head to avoid the small but very pointy stalactites that threatened to split his head. He also managed to avoid most of the rocks and stalagmites as well, almost tripping over a light lump in the ground. He grumbled as he sucked in his gut and turned sideways to slip through a crack, just large enough to squeeze through. With a final push, he stumbled into the clearing and carried onwards.

The clearing looked like a makeshift throne room with a large mahogany throne with intricate details inlaid like thorns on the handles and stunning lion paws for the feet of the thrones. However, it was not perfect. There were still burn marks everywhere and slight notches in the woodwork, like someone had tried to cut it and then burn the pieces. In reality, somebody had and succeeded. It had taken them ages to find the remains of the once great throne, which was found beneath the earth and protected by sacred bells. It took some time, but they were able to restore it back into its original form, though not to perfection. There were three smaller chairs, tiny in comparison to the great throne, also designed, though more to suit individual needs.

His chair was simple in design, but there were so many different details like tiny rubies inlaid in the carvings representing the eyes of the rats. The legs of the chair had entwined vines and the feet of rats with tiny claws on the end, also rubies. He admired it and made sure there wasn't a single scratch on it. He was pleased that there was none.

The sound of footsteps drew his attention away from the chair and he turned. Behind him was a tall and beautiful woman with emerald green eyes and dark strawberry blonde hair that reached to her curvy waist. She was dressed in a green dress with long sleeves and gold designs along the hem, with a beautiful long skirt and brown sandals. With the low cut of her dress and hourglass figure, she could instantly get any men's attention, especially the hot blooded males, and all she'd do was walk down a street and then, every man's eyes would be on her. They all would think that she was weak but Stefan knew better than to mess with her.

"Good evening, Rotte." she spoke in a silky smooth voice, a sexy undertone to it all. She battered her eyes slightly and smiled innocently, her red lipsticked mouth turned into a smile, showing her pearly white teeth. Rotte rolled his eyes.

"It's not going to work Tiamat." He growled in annoyance and Tiamat laughed before placing her hands on her hips, rolling them slightly.

"You know you want to."

"Oh sure I want to. I was just hoping it's not you."

Tiamat fumed with anger and embarrassment. "What is _that _supposed to mean?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Why you little-"

A loud thump noise interrupted them and they both jumped backwards. A white haired male was lying face down with his blue cloak covering his back. He groaned and pushed himself up, brushing off the dirt and dust that clung onto his blue cloak and clothes. His white hair was tied in a ponytail and covered in a mass of cobwebs and soot was smeared on his face, his brilliant bright blue eyes shone in the lamplight.

"Corbin, what happened to you? You're covered in filth."

"I decided to skip the tunnel entrance and go the long way, for your information Tiamat." He replied, plucking out a large green beetle in his hair, putting it in his mouth and swallowing it whole. Rotte wasn't surprised but Tiamat's face turned into a look of curiosity into a look of disgust.

"How can you eat that?"

Corbin's eyes narrowed, "Says the devourer of mice, tails and all." he retorted.

"Hey, mice are delicious. Bugs are just… just… ew! They're even worse than what Rotte eats."

"What's the difference between carcasses and dead mice?"

"If you have finished discussing culinary tastes and dietary concerns, there are more important things to discuss."

Tiamat, Rotte and Corbin sucked in their breath and turned around. There, sitting on his throne, was a large man with a white shirt opened and black trousers. His eyes were fiery red and his black hair seemed to draw in the darkness, making them seem like little fires in his sockets. The only obscure thing was that he still retained his dark red and black monkey tail which draped over the left throne arm. His smile shook Rotte down to the bones; his sharp, brilliant white teeth gleaming.

Rotte, Tiamat and Corbin dropped their knees and bowed to him. Inazaru flicked his right hand and they got up, walking to their chairs and sitting down in them. Rotte couldn't bear to look at Inazaru; but then, neither could Tiamat and Corbin. A little surprising for Tiamat; she was the boldest out of the three, with Rotte being the most respectful and Corbin… well, despite his brash nature, he was the quietest out of the trio and he blended in the background.

"I trust that you have all done what I have asked?" Inazaru addressed them.

"Yes my Lord." replied Tiamat and Corbin, both with a slight wobble in their voices. Rotte stayed silent but still didn't look at Inazaru. Of course, Inazaru caught this and addressed him, anger in his tone.

"Why did you not speak, Rotte? Are you trying to hide something from me?"

"My Lord, please forgive me. Vladimir Lupescu, child of Ştephan Lupescu, still lives and has disappeared. I have failed you but I will search the world to kill him, even if…." His voice trailed off as fear took over and he went silent. There was a slight, uncomfortable pause before Inazaru spoke, his tone bored and tired, like listening to his familiars grovel was exhausting to listen to.

"At least you tell the truth, and believe me, even if you searched the world, you still wouldn't be able to find him and you," he looked at Corbin and Tiamat, "are both lying."

"But, my lord, we are not lying. At this very moment in time, Lukas Bondevik's headless body should be rotting away." spoke up Corbin.

"Yes, and Arthur Kirkland's body is being eaten by maggots as we speak." agreed Tiamat.

"Then why, WHY, are Lukas and Arthur in the House of Mordes, being prepared to kill me?" he boomed, terrifying Tiamat and Corbin into straightening their backs.

"You have all failed me! But," the three familiars held their breath eagerly, "you are loyal and I will give another chance. However, since you are so incompetent to kill humans, you will go to your respected places and stay there."

"Each area you will go to holds a piece of my destruction; a piece of the crown. You will guard it and ensure that no one finds it or gets a hold of it, whether it is one of the sages or humans. Whatever happens you will remain there and lay down your lives for it, just make sure no one obtains it-understand?"

"Yes Lord Inazaru." They replied, no longer shaking with fear but with excitement and pride.

"Good. Tiamat, you will go to Orthica. Corbin shall go to Nortaina and Rotte will head south to Suterria. In the three sacred places is the piece of the crown, I trust you will guard it well."

"My lord, if I may ask; who will guard the piece in Estopa?" wondered Corbin; both Tiamat and Rotte nodded as well.

Inazaru shook his head sadly, "There is nothing to guard in Estopa. Vladimir Lupescu has the piece of the crown already."

"WHAT?" screamed Tiamat, eyes ablaze with pure anger. She turned to Rotte, eyes ablaze with a mixture of fury and horror. "This is your entire fault Rotte. Can't you do anything right?"

"At least I came the closest to killing anyone, Tiamat." growled Rotte, ready to rise out of his chair.

"Vladimir doesn't realise he possesses a piece of the crown, so there is no reason to start tearing each other into pieces."

"My lord, where is the piece of crown? Maybe we could retrieve it before he realises its importance?" asked Corbin, but Inazaru shook his head.

"It would have been easier if it was easy for him to part with it, but unfortunately, it will not be."

"Why?" echoed Corbin, confused. Rotte and Tiamat also looked confused.

"It is Ştephan Lupescu's locket. His final gift to Vladimir Lupescu, his gift before he died."

* * *

_I apologize that this chapter is out so late, but I come from a family of procrastinators and my mother becomes a real tornado in the summer and spring in terms of cleaning. I've also been pushed for time and to give you an idea, this was one week: House chores, badminton tournament, two cricket matches, cricket practice, badminton practice and then to top it all off, I slipped on wet grass, did the splits and pulled a muscle in my upper leg and thigh, resulting in me being taken off in a wheelchair. It could have been a lot worse but I really didn't need it. _

_Aperi- Latin for open, a command. _

_Thanks to brattyteenagewerewolf for the suggestion of the name Tiamat and Corbin and thank you for the support over the chapters._

_CopperKitsune_


End file.
